


Stress Relief

by I_AM_KING_DAD



Category: MORA - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Drow, Fantasy, Half-orc, Just Two Guys Jerking It, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, References to Knotting, Repressed Memories, Unusual Genitals, first time masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 14:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10855839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_AM_KING_DAD/pseuds/I_AM_KING_DAD
Summary: The escaped slave/phony drow prince Malathios learns to relax from the help of his companion, the half-orc Bora. Just two dudes jerkin' it in the woods...nothin' to see here.





	Stress Relief

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece of writing I created about mine (Mal) and my girlfriend's (Bora) D&D characters. I plan on adding more, we've been working on MORA (the ship pairing name) for over a year. I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to message me for any questions.

It was one those evenings in mid July where the moisture hung dense in the air after it rained. The ground was just soggy enough where one could sink into the earth and panic briefly at the idea of being swallowed up. Mosquitos flit through the air in droves and crickets noisily sang for partners to copulate with. Frogs croaked, their progeny peeping enthusiastically, and animals that a novice traveller never came in contact with shrieked into the night. Every aspect of the current environment was enough to drive the young drow, Malathios, to madness. He awoke from the lightest of slumber, unable to achieve anything fruitful. He lay in his companion’s bedroll, eyes wide open, staring blankly at the fabric of the threadbare tent the pair thought would help with the mosquitoes. (It didn’t.) 

 

He idly slid a hand down his ash-colored chest; it was slick with sweat.This hand went to run through his hair, which was a mess of black and blond he chopped off himself with a knife. The moisture was enough to slick it back. Thankful that it saved him from the discomfort of an overheated head, he could only imagine how the mountain-of-a-man that traveled with him handled having such long tresses of hair. Gaze drifting to outside the tent, he could see the campfire ablaze, but didn’t hear the half-orc outside. This wasn’t uncommon; Borabar was a quiet one, even when he was alone and could talk to himself all he wanted. Malathios felt it was his duty to keep the fellow on watch company, and slipped outside into the night air.

 

It was stale, and hung thick. The scent of campfire, body odor, and heavy rain was an inescapable fate that Malathios questioned very briefly why he ever escaped his underground prison. Body heavy from exhaustion, Mal felt a warm pang in his abdomen, which he idly scratched at. He wrote it off as fatigue, and walked silently over toward the fire. There was no sign of the half-orc in the immediate area. Mal scoffed in indignation at the idea of the man just abandoning their campsite while he was still asleep. Had that half-orc no decorum? His slim, black fingers balled into fists the moment he felt betrayal. 

 

Well, he’d just have to go find Bora and bring him back. Regardless of the fact that all their items were still at the campsite, Mal felt it was unacceptable for him to leave without alerting him. So he listened. When he paid attention and focused, his hearing was excellent. After a few stretches of silence, the drow was able to hear soft noises in the opposite direction in which he stood. It sounded humanoid enough. Going back briefly only to grab the small knife Bora gave him for protection, he crept toward the source of the sound. This attempt to be silent was an utter failure. Soggy leaves squelched under his bare feet; he winced at the disgusting feeling and was grateful the sound wasn’t too far from the camp.

 

Malathios found Bora in the glade he specifically said he did not want to rest in as it was open. The light from the waxing moon was enough to illuminate the area for a human to see. He spotted the half-orc instantly, and would have shouted at him if the situation wasn’t entirely different than anything he had experienced before. There was Borabar, sitting, back against a tree. His breaths were shallow, panting. Mal garnered some suspicion that the man was hurt, and he had dragged himself to the area to die like some animal. How pathetic! Not having enough information to make an informed decision as to what course of action to take, he hung back, watching him.

Bora was not visibly bleeding; the grunts and groans escaping his lips seemed ones of pleasure, rather than pain. Celadon hued skin shone with sweat. He looked vulnerable, which was a side of the half-orc Malathios had never seen. They had traveled a while together - two months or so? - the half-orc was strong, mostly silent, only speaking when it suited him. Crouching down to move closer, Mal noticed Bora’s eyes were screwed shut. His dominant hand slipped down his tented trousers, moving slowly back and forth. Mal had difficulty visualizing what was happening. It irritated him he did not understand the other’s plight. He inhaled sharply at the sight of Bora moving the fabric, freeing a dark, swollen penis. Right hand gripped lax around the organ, sliding it up and down the shaft. The head of it was wept a pearlescent fluid. The sheer sight confused Mal to the point of fury, hands reaching up to his head to grip at his hair. He had so many questions that he couldn’t bare to watch it continue without getting context. Malathios felt his body temperature rising, a blush creeping from the spotted grey skin of his shoulders and up his neck. Standing up as calmly as he could, he stepped forward in a controlled manner into the glade, revealing himself in the moonlight. 

 

Hearing footsteps immediately alerted Bora, who in a panic stuffed himself back into his cloth trousers. Upon seeing who it was, he breathed a sigh of relief, “Prince Malathios,” he seemed rather sheepish and embarrassed, “M’sorry but - could I have a moment?”

 

Malathios furrowed his brow, “Mal. Just say Mal,” he looked away in nervousness for a moment, and then said in an uncharacteristically urgent voice, “I need to understand your injury,” his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, accent thick, slurred.

 

Listening as patiently as possible, Bora’s expression turned from benevolent annoyance to amusement and a little confusion, “You’re joking,” he said, the corners of his lips curling up in a coy smile.

 

Taken aback by how nonchalantly Borabar acted toward his concern, Mal bristled, “I jest not,” his voice a vicious bite in the darkness, “Bora, what is this,” he continued to step forward, paddling a hand to find the words, “...self-care.” 

 

“You’re telling me you’ve never done this?” his initial hesitancy was lightened considerably due to such a serious tone over a simple topic.

 

It wasn’t so simple for Malathios. He wrapped his arms around himself, gripping at them in annoyance. He strained to think of a time where something similar had happened to him. Up until this very eve, he was under the impression that the function of his genitalia was specifically for urination and mating with his mistress-at least, when the time came for that. Unless the urge to urinate was there, the organ withdrew inside him, the only indication of genitalia a sheath. The thought of that caused him to shudder. The silence that stretched between them grew while Mal wracked his brain for an experience. A vague feeling from 80 years ago reminded him that yes, this swelling occurred, just once. Just once and it never happened again. A lightning shot of pain kept him transfixed in his spot. Yes, it became clear to him. Mistress Lobbanara’s anger; she shrieked at him, beat him and the area until his thighs and sheath bruised. He supposed this treatment was never given to half-orcs, given Bora’s jocular manner, “No…” he said slowly, still wrapped in his thoughts. His left hand idly ran up to his abdomen; another hot pang thrummed through him.

 

The half-orc picked up just how distressing his actions were to Mal. He read the face as shame, rather than a recollection of past events, and smiled nervously, “Nothing to be ashamed about,” he paused for a moment, and added, “it’s just something you do to release the stress…” especially the stress from an ornery drow such as Mal.

 

Malathios lowered his head slightly, unable to stop himself from feeling vulnerability due to ignorance. Already several heads shorter than the half-orc, his form wrapped into himself, as if attempting to disappear in thin air, “Stress release,” he repeated quietly, and toddled warily over to Bora. It was rare he saw the other man like this, without his goggles on. He could see the proper green shade of his skin, the rivulets of sweat dripping from his neck. Peering down at him, he knew his irritated eyes were a source of discomfort for Bora to view, so he averted his gaze when he spoke. 

 

Borabar found that traveling with Malathios had been an exercise of patience-something he seemed to have an endless supply for the drow. As the shorter man drew closer, he began to lean away, unsure of what his actions would be. He really just wanted him to leave - why was his traveling companion so incredibly curious over such seemingly simple things? Was he not a prince? Were princes where he was from this naive and bullish? The lack of incite shrouded Mal in a frustrating amount of mystery. Unable to really offer any more information than that, he commented quietly, “You seem to have a lot of it...stress, that is.”

 

The drow couldn’t think of a time where there wasn’t a pain in the back of his head from tension. Every muscle seemed to tighten at a constant. His heart rate a naturally elevated pace, to be quite honest, Malathios was a walking aneurysm waiting to happen. Maybe this is something he needed. Perhaps it could be a learning experience for him. Instead of walking away, he sat down next to Borabar-must to the half-orc’s discomfort-looking up at him with a rare expression of respectful curiosity. At first, he stumbled over the phrase, “Could I - please -” and then coughed for a moment, regrouped, and whispered, “I wish...to see the process,” his voice calm, almost melodic. Bora’s expression was blank, as if calculating in his mind just what was said to him. Mal stammered, “If-if it’s too much, I’ll leave.” 

 

The problem was he wasn’t sure if the request was too much or not. In his travels, Borabar had seen many different types of people. As the nature of traveling for long stints of time, more often than not, Bora found comfort in a companion once in awhile. He wasn’t picky over species or gender. It was just something one did to feel alive, to feel the closeness of another being. There rarely was anything more than romance. Bora’d never traveled with a drow before, and chalked his ignorance up to, “weird dark elf stuff.” Though he’d been with several people, all curious as to what it would be like with a half-orc, this was a different request. He actually felt sorry for Malathios, who had his hands pressed on his thighs, brow furrowed, and determined to learn, “Guess it can’t hurt,” Bora laughed nervously.

 

Mal watched intently as Bora seemed to shrug the past situation off so quietly, and get back down to business. He secretly admired his ability to be so pleasant and level-headed in any situation. It was almost attractive. Almost. The half-orc’s large hand went back down to his trousers, moving the fabric once again to release his hardening cock. With a powerful hand wrapping around the shaft, he gently pumped up and down, lingering at the head. Thumb smearing a forming bead of precum to slick it up, Mal was quick to ask about the fluid, “Can’t concentrate if you’re talking...” a short cough of annoyance stuck in Bora’s throat. 

 

Pursing his lips, the drow nodded quickly, and kept silent. He leaned against the tree, turned toward Bora. Once the quiet settled back in, Bora let his hand go back to pumping. At first, it was slow, an effort to show Mal just what was happening. Hardening back up again, the thick member twitched in his hands. The sight of it was enough for the blush to creep from his neck up to his cheeks, creating patchy splotches of pink. One of the drow’s hand moved from his lap, up to his sternum and pressing against his chest to feel his own heartbeat. It was an action he did often out of nervousness, and the beat of the muscle hammered against his fingertips. 

 

Bora nearly forgot Mal was there, his eyelids drooping shut again, posture relaxing. The hand sped up, his fingers slicking his dick up with the precum that drooled satisfyingly from the head. Perhaps it was the motion, or the wetness, or the musky scent of sweat and bodily fluid mingling that brought a fog to Mal’s mind. It was very rare there was comfort or pleasantries traveling the way the pair did. Malathios consistently felt aware of his surroundings, the discomfort, and general misery that affected his daily living. This evening, the irritation died away. He was focused solely on the show that Bora was giving him. Timidly, he looked up to gaze fully at the half-orc’s face. He was rather handsome, actually, for an orc-even though he was the first orc he’d ever seen. Mal noted Bora’s pointed tusks digging into the skin of his lips as he bit down from concentration. A few strands of long, ebony hair fell from his braid, and Mal felt an urge to brush it from his face. He thought better, and another pang in his lower abdomen brought him away from the thought. 

 

Heat was beginning to pool at Malathios’ thighs, but he paid no attention. His own member, never touched in a sexual manner, began to awaken from its sheath. Meanwhile, Bora was in the last stretch to ecstasy, his hand a jade blur. The only sound between the two were Bora’s impassioned grunts, and Mal’s airy breath. Malathios observed the man’s thighs twitch through the fabric of his trousers, and quickly he placed his free hand to catch the hot ropes of cum. His throat let out of pleasured growl, and his tensed body relaxed into the trunk of the tree. Bora sat like that for a moment, eyes still closed, collapsed with pleasure before wiping his hand off and looking over to the drow. Another beat of silence and he began to move to stand up, “Well, that’s it -”

 

Frankly, Mal was shocked by what he saw. Nothing that could make a half-orc so vulnerable had to be good, but he was curious. Now, he was in pain. The neglected organ stirred in the thin fabric of his gauze pants. With nothing to keep his eyes on now, he was forced to face what was happening with his own body. The drow’s expression immediately registered as panic and embarrassment, “Wait!” he said before Bora could stand fully. 

 

Sitting back down against the tree, Bora spied the tenting of Mal’s pants, but didn’t say anything. Malathios was in a pitiful state. The spotted, usually smoky color of his face was now splattered with crimson. Now slumped against the tree, his skin glistened with a sticky sheen. His hair plastered to his forehead, and the sheer helplessness of his state was so pathetic Bora couldn’t decide whether it was endearing or disarming. Not wanting to offend the drow, he kept silent and waited for a reply. 

 

“I -” he sniffled, tears nearly forming, but quickly eaten up by steely resolve., “Could you stay while,” he motioned downward, thumb hooking under the thin fabric of his pants, “you don’t have to, I’m not making you-I just want to…” he began to babble but Bora nodded, a hint of understanding in his eyes.

 

Malathios was comforted by this, and focused on himself while he fumbled with his waistband. He winced, penis springing free. Bora, his sight not as perfect as Mal’s, noted the onyx black of his legs ended at his upper thigh, much like the stockings he’d seen on a whore. He coughed and looked away for a second. Mal gingerly touched his swollen erection, the entirety of the shaft an inky, slick black. Unable to stop the moans that shuddered from his lips, he sank further down into the ground. Nerve endings on fire, just by his hand loosely wrapped around his prick, he ventured as to what would happen if he gripped it tighter. He jolted with pleasure. 

 

Pressure sensitivity was not something he grasped just yet. His hand became an iron vice around his cock when he started to tug roughly. Bora grimaced at Mal’s disinterest in being gentle with himself. Mal, so focused on what he was doing, glanced up for some sort of approval. Seeing the other’s expression, he timidly choked out, “Am I - am I doing it wrong?”

 

Bora placed a hand on Malathios’ arm, “Relax,” which the drow clearly had no concept of. His hand twitched, and the nail of his thumb dug into the head, “No, let go,” what Bora was learning about dark elves was the lack of tenderness they held for themselves and each other. It was almost disturbing. When Mal’s hand released, Bora murmured, “I’ll show you,” Mal’s eyes widened and he moved his hands so they were gripping thigh just below his hips.

 

“Please,” he bleated, his body shuddering violently when Bora merely placed a hand on his stomach. It was odd being touched so softly. Mal wanted nothing more than to jerk away and leave; it was a mistake, he should never had left the tent. Standing over the precipice of the unknown and diving in was something Malathios did on a daily basis. Why was this so terrifying to him? His mind brimming with doubt, he nodded, willing for the other to continue. 

 

When Bora received his signal to continue, he wrapped a hand around the thick cock. This elicited a harsh cry from the drow, who looked down in shock and amazement. Mal resolved a gentle grip was much more pleasant, and bit hard on his lip to quell more cries. Bora could feel the elevated pulses, and was careful to begin a steady pace. He guessed it would not take long for the dark elf to orgasm, at least he’d hoped. Thumb occasionally circling the head, he gazed down at Mal, who was mewling at the sensation. He couldn’t help but notice the pleasantly soft features of his face; round chubby cheeks and pouting, moist lips that parted ever so slightly and the strange dappling of his skin proved to be an exotic, almost quirky attraction. The thought exited his head as Mal violently came in his hand. Mal gripped at his hips, clawing, back arching like a possessed man. The moan ripped from his stomach and amplified out; he bared his black, pointed teeth, eyes filled with shooting white lights. 

 

Bora moved away and sat awkwardly while Mal leaned against him, panting for breath. He looked up at the half-orc, and pushed the hair plastered against his forehead back, slicking his hair, “Thank you,” he mouthed, voice so quiet it could hardly registered. Malathios pulled away from him, and cleaned himself up haphazardly. Bora looked down at his fingers, the fluid a translucent purple. He quickly brushed it off with wet leaves. For the first time since they’d met, Bora was pleased that Mal had very little to say past that, and actually looked relaxed. It was a look that suited him. The only other strange occurrence, was Mal’s cock taking a long time after to soften and withdraw, a knot swelling, keeping it from being sheathed. Bora looked away to give him a bit of privacy. Mal let out one more whimper as he gingerly pulled his waistband back up. Instead of immediately leaving, the two sat in comforting silence, relishing in the course of endorphins flooding their system, and a rather pleasant breeze finally cooling them off.


End file.
